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Priam, King of Troy.
Calchas, a Trojan priest, taking part with the Greeks.
Margarelon, a bastard son of Priam.
Thersites, a deformed and scurrilous Grecian.
Alexander, servant to Cressida.
Servant to Troilus; Servant to Paris; Servant to Diomedes.
Helen, wife to Menelaus.
Andromache, wife to Hector.
Casandra, daughter to Priam; a prophetess.
Trojan and Greek Soldiers, and Attendants.
Scene, Troy, and the Grecian camp before it.
IN Troy, there lies the scene. From isles of Greece
With wanton Paris sleeps; And that's the quarrel.
And the deep-drawing barks do there disgorge
Now expectation, tickling skittish spirits,
* Proud, disdainful.
TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.
SCENE I. Troy. Before Priam's palace.
Enter Troilus armed, and Pandarus.
Tro. CALL here my varlet*, I'll unarm again : Why should I war without the walls of Troy, That find such cruel battle here within? Each Trojan, that is master of his heart, Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none. Pan. Will this geert ne'er be mended?
Tro. The Greeks are strong, and skilful to their strength,
Fierce to their skill, and to their fierceness valiant;
Pan. Well, I have told you enough of this: for my part, I'll not meddle nor make no further. He, that will have a cake out of the wheat, must tarry the grinding.
Tro. Have I not tarried?
Pan. Ay, the grinding; but you must tarry the bolting.
Tro. Have I not tarried?
Pan. Ay, the bolting; but you must tarry the leavening.
Tro. Still have I tarried.
* A servant to a knight. VOL. VII.
Pan. Ay, to the leavening: but here's yet in the word—hereafter, the kneading, the making of the cake, the heating of the oven, and the baking; nay, you must stay the cooling too, or you may chance to burn your lips.
Tro. Patience herself, what goddess e'er she be, Doth lesser blench* at sufferance than I do. At Priam's royal table do I sit;
And when fair Cressid comes into my thoughts,So, traitor! when she comes !--When is she thence?
Pan. Well, she looked yesternight fairer than ever I saw her look, or any woman else.
Tro. I was about to tell thee,-When my heart, As wedged with a sigh, would rive† in twain; Lest Hector or my father should perceive me, I have (as when the sun doth light a storm,) Bury'd this sigh in wrinkle of a smile: But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladness, Is like that mirth fate turns to sudden sadness.
Pan. An her hair were not somewhat darker than Helen's, (well, go to,) there were no more comparison between the women,-But, for my part, she is my kinswoman; I would not, as they term it, praise her,-But I would somebody had heard her talk yesterday, as I did. I will not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit; but
Tro. O Pandarus! I tell thee, Pandarus—
Her eyes, her hair, her cheek, her gait, her voice;